


De Laude Scriptorum (In Praise of Scribes)

by aranruine



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gender-Neutral Caryll, Other, Pining, Pre-Canon, but horny, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:21:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29151153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aranruine/pseuds/aranruine
Summary: At night they often lay awake for a long time, thinking of the downward cast of his eyelashes, his gaze, the way a strand of hair clung to his forehead. Uneasy sleep only gave way to strange, unfathomable nightmares.Sometime well after midnight, Caryll attempted to write a letter. Dear, Caryll had started, then stared for a long time, not daring to write any further. Eventually, they tossed the whole affair into the fireplace, and the pen too for good measure. Then, deciding their time was better spent on something productive, Caryll set out for the chained library.--A nighttime adventure in the Byrgenwerth library. Laurence makes a mess, and Caryll blushes a lot. There's a constant sound of dripping water. Plip...plop.
Relationships: Laurence/Caryll (Bloodborne)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 7





	1. Atrament

The moon was a crimson blot in the sky, blurring at the edges like spilled ink. It grew bigger, blooming rounder—a bulging, wet drop ready to burst. It seemed to choke out everything in sight. A great beckoning moon, tinging the world red. It dangled like rotted fruit upon a branch yet Caryll yearned for its sweet, life-giving taste.

Somewhere, rain began to fall. 

_Plip, plop. Plip, plop…_

Caryll jerked awake, nearly falling off their perch by the windowsill. They rushed to close the window, fearing for the papers scattered about the room. But the night air was devoid of dampness. Only the autumn breeze blew coolly against their hand. _A dream, then,_ thought Caryll. _Nothing more..._

* * *

Byrgenwerth boasted a beautiful and grand library on the topic of arcane study. During the day, sunlight dappled through the windows and illuminated the scrollwork adorning its esteemed walls. Oaken shelves and brass ladders housed knowledge that one could devote a lifetime to study.

But Caryll knew that the true gems of research were to be found elsewhere. Tucked into a corner of the library was a small, windowless room. Inside, sturdy chains secured dusty tomes with cracked spines to special shelves, their contents as disturbing as they were mysterious. Anyone requesting access would have to acquire written permission from Master Willem, a notoriously long and drawn-out process. 

It was the desire to bypass this bureaucracy that led Caryll creeping across the school late at night. Or so they told themself. 

Something weighed heavily on Caryll’s mind. Something that Caryll refused to acknowledge.

 _I am a scholar_ , Caryll repeated in their head firmly. _I haven’t the time for childish infatuations._ Even if there was that one moment, after a close call in the underground labyrinth, that Caryll thought he was going to—well, it didn’t matter in the end, because Caryll had turned away. Neither of them had spoken of it since. 

In fact, the way Caryll’s mind wandered to the same place lately was infuriating. 

But the yearning grew desperate at times. A desire that Caryll neither had the will nor the capacity to process swelled inside like rising tide. At night they often lay awake for a long time, thinking of the downward cast of his eyelashes, his gaze, the way a strand of hair clung to his forehead. Uneasy sleep only gave way to strange, unfathomable nightmares.

_Plip...plop, plip...plop…_

Sometime well after midnight, Caryll attempted to write a letter. _Dear,_ Caryll had started, then stared for a long time, not daring to write any further. Eventually, they tossed the whole affair into the fireplace, and the pen too for good measure. Then, deciding their time was better spent on something productive, Caryll set out for the chained library.

Caryll carried an unlit candle on a holder. Dores and the Gatekeeper patrolled the school grounds at night, and candlelight would glow like a beacon through the tall windows. Caryll would light it once they were safely behind wooden doors.

They paused frequently, listening for any sounds. Much care was taken into navigating the heaps of books scattered haphazardly across low tables and chairs.

The effort was almost for naught, however, when a dark shape rose suddenly in front of their destination. Caryll clamped a hand over their mouth to keep from screaming. The figure half turned before flinching as well, equally startled by Caryll.

For a brief moment, they stared at each other. It was only when the figure stepped out into a patch of moonlight that Caryll recognized him.

“By the gods! Caryll,” whispered Laurence, “what are you——oh.”

A knowing look came across Laurence’s face as he realized that Caryll must be here for the same reason he was sneaking around the library, an unlit lantern by his feet. 

Caryll nodded, not trusting their own voice. Their heartbeat was loud in their ears, but only partly from being startled. They had sought refuge from a sleepless night, but instead found themself faced with the man who was the cause of it. Caryll tugged at their collar surreptitiously, hoping that they didn’t look obviously bedraggled. 

“Well, good. Looks like we’re after the same thing. The only problem,” Laurence gestured, “is this damnable lock. Have you ever picked locks before?”

An unexpected question. Caryll stared. Truthfully enough, Laurence was holding a length of bent wire. 

Laurence sighed. “It’s one thing to do that in daylight, but I can barely see—wait, someone’s coming,” Laurence whispered urgently as he pulled Caryll towards him.

Footsteps and low murmurs sounded just outside the window. For a moment they held their breaths, sinking into the shadow provided by a bookshelf. Caryll tried not to pay any mind to the way Laurence’s hands lingered still, loosely wrapped around their arm.

“They will be back again soon,” whispered Laurence when the footsteps faded away. He turned towards Caryll impatiently, then with a lightly chagrined expression, released Caryll’s arm. There was a flash of uncertainty on his face before he cleared his throat.

“They went towards the other side of the building. Quick, light your candle, so I can work with some light.”

“Laurence, there is no need,” said Caryll, rummaging through their pocket. “I have a key.”

Laurence looked at the rusty skeleton key that Caryll produced for a moment, then raised one eyebrow. “Where on earth,” he said, “did you get that?”

“Well... this is an old institution. Turns out many of the doors in this building share the same key.” Caryll explained as they turned the key. The door squeaked quietly, and both students quickly stepped in. 

“One bright mind with a bold soul swiped the key ring while the Gatekeeper napped, then pressed their impressions into clay.”

Laurence let out an amused puff of breath. “So duplicates could be made without arousing suspicion. A daring plot.”

“I’m merely borrowing it,” added Caryll hurriedly. “But, from what I hear, this key has been a friend to many who sneak into the dormitories after a night spent in town.”

The air inside the little-used room was musty and stale. Caryll handed Laurence their matchbox, so that he may use both of his hands to light the candle, before locking and closing the door behind them. A soft yellow light soon illuminated a small sphere around the two.

“What were you planning to do if you couldn’t get the door open?” asked Caryll.

“I would have gotten it eventually,” replied Laurence plainly as he scanned the shelves. He let out a small triumphant noise. 

“There, the first-hand account of medical procedures from AIling Loran. The books in the open library are most vague on the nature of the special medium required by the procedure.”

Caryll sighed, dreading the next exchange slightly. “Coincidentally, that’s also the manuscript that I needed for my own research.” 

“Is it? That’s fine, we can share,” said Laurence nonchalantly, and Caryll blinked. They had been bracing for a confrontation. 

“Oh,” they mumbled, lifting the heavy tome from its shackles and carrying it to a reading table.

They sat side by side before the open book, with stacks of paper for notetaking. The room was silent save for the scratching of pen and the occasional clinking of nibs against inkwells. 

“A bit excessive, don’t you think?” muttered Laurence after a while. “Certainly these are precious esoteric books, but hardly of interest to anyone outside of this institution. Master Willem is much too fond of old traditions.” 

“Perhaps it is not the value of the books, but the danger of what they contain, that warrants this precaution,” said Caryll carefully.

Laurence scoffed. “No knowledge should be feared,” he said, turning to Caryll. “We are scholars, Caryll. We must reach for the heavens and seize what is to be found there.”

He said so with such certainty, that Caryll found it difficult to meet his eyes. Instead, they focused on the page in front of them. There was a lurid and graphic illustration of a body marked by a disfiguring illness. Next to it was a paragraph marking each stage of the disease, and a picture of a vessel overflowing with bubbling, dark blood.

_...plip...plop…_

Caryll craned their head. Had it started raining? But the sound faded as quickly as it started, and after a moment they shrugged and returned to reading.

The candlelight was dim, and the far page of the book on Laurence’s side was shadowed. Caryll shifted nervously in their seat, craning their neck. Laurence wordlessly pushed the book towards Caryll and scooted closer, so that their shoulders and upper arms touched. Caryll whispered thanks and continued taking notes, but their attention leaped to their shoulders every time Laurence shifted in his seat. Warmth seeped from their point of contact, a constant reminder of their proximity. 

Caryll bit their lip, willing their mind to concentrate.

They began transcribing a section on bloodletting, accompanied by a drawing of a ritualistic dagger. Blood dripped profusely from it, the glistening drops turning into a decorative pattern adorning the margins of the manuscript. Caryll watched, mesmerized by the way Laurence absent-mindedly traced the pattern with his slender fingers. A swirl of red seemed to flow forth from his fingertips.

“Can I turn the page now?”

Caryll started badly at the sudden sound, jostling the table in the process. The candle tilted, threatening to fall over— with a gasp, both Laurence and Caryll reached out. Laurence was faster and caught the candle before it fell on the precious book. However, in his haste, Laurence upturned his inkwell, spilling the contents on the table. Then, adding to the chaos, the candle’s flame trembled once before flickering out, plunging the room into absolute darkness.

For a moment there was only the sound of ink dripping on the floor.

“Sorry! Sorry, I was startled. Oh, where’s the blasted matchbox…”

“I had it. I put it around here somewhere,” came the reply from the darkness, followed moments later by a muttered curse. “Damn it, It’s soaked in ink.”

“Sorry.” Caryll said, cringing inwardly. 

“Don’t,” said Laurence with a sigh. “It’s all right. We haven’t managed to burn the school down. And the book should be fine too. My sleeve took most of the ink.”

There was a sound of rustling fabric as Laurence shrugged out of his robe and wiped at the table. Caryll felt around for the book and carefully pushed it away.

“I have my own matches. They should be in the pocket of my waistcoat,” Laurence said as he continued to struggle with his robe. “Can you grab it?”

Caryll reached uncertainly in Laurence’s direction. The tips of one hand landed on something warm: sliding their fingers down revealed it as his jaw. Whispering another apology, they lowered their hand to brace on his shoulders. With the other hand, Caryll felt lightly down Laurence’s side and waist. The small pocket, usually meant for the keeping of a pocket watch, was difficult to find, and Caryll had to trail their fingers up and down over the fabric multiple times before they caught on the opening.

“...Try the other side,” came Laurence’s voice again, closer to their face than Caryll was expecting. Caryll squeezed their eyes shut momentarily, glad for the darkness hiding the flush on their face. It seemed Caryll would have to lean closer in order to reach Laurence’s right side with their left hand. 

One hand still on Laurence’s shoulders, Caryll reached. Laurence’s left hand — the one not covered in ink — came to rest on Caryll’s elbow, as if to guide them in an awkward, sideways embrace. Caryll explored slowly on the other side. As their fingers traced a slow line down Laurence’s side, he exhaled quietly, just next to Caryll’s ear. Caryll stifled the small noise that escaped from their mouth, though Laurence must have heard, given the proximity of their faces.

Blood rushed to their head, beating a steady, thunderous rhythm that overlapped with the sound of dripping water. Was it ink? Rain? Or was it something more precious, coursing through their veins, filling their body with a heated _want?_

“Laurence, can I--” words spilled out of Caryll’s mouth before they had the chance to register. “I mean—,” they said hoarsely. “I’m sorry, forget it.” They started to pull away, but the hand on their arm remained steady.

Laurence’s voice in the darkness was low, but full of intent.

“What do you want, Caryll?”

“I…” 

“Say it.”

“...A…” Caryll started, then swallowed once. “...a kiss,” they whispered, barely audible.

For a moment, there was only the sound of their breaths. Caryll began to panic. Atop an already sleepless night, this was too much. A part of them wanted to run, to never have to confront feelings such as this again. A bigger part of them positively ached with desire. More than anything, they wanted to know what kind of expression Laurence was wearing in the dark.

The hand on their elbow slid up to the point between Caryll’s neck and shoulder. A finger ghosted along their jaw, then their cheek. His thumb brushed Caryll’s lips light as a feather. Caryll drew in a shuddering breath as their entire body focused on that feeling on their lips. Then his thumb lifted. In that brief moment, there was an agonizing emptiness, quickly replaced by the heat of his mouth.

Laurence kissed slowly, pulling Caryll closer towards him. His thumb rested on the hollow of their neck, weightless but possessive. Caryll clung to him, one hand winding into Laurence’s hair. Laurence bit down painlessly at Caryll’s bottom lip, and Caryll gasped into the shared space between their mouths. 

“Closer,” Laurence said in a husky voice. His hand trailed down to Caryll’s waist, guiding them off their chair onto his lap. Caryll swung their legs over and clumsily straddled Laurence, bracing one hand on the back of the chair, and resting the other on the back of Laurence’s neck. 

They eagerly claimed the softness of his mouth, drinking in the sweetness of his scent mingled with the scent of ink.

Without breaking their kiss, Laurence pulled at the ribbon of Caryll’s tie, then undid the buttons one by one. Caryll shifted against the growing hardness under them, and Laurence made a small, hungry sound that sent heat pooling in their belly. Caryll pressed their bodies closer, wanting more, _needing_ — 

A sudden loud clang rang outside the door, followed by a muffled expletive. They froze in place. Light seeped through the gap under the door, shadows passing briefly as footsteps creaked the floorboards.

“What was that?” asked a voice.

“Kicked somethin’.”

“A lantern? Must be one of the students’.”

Laurence swore very quietly. “My lantern. I left it outside,” he whispered.

“Ah, those spoiled buggers. Better not be causin’ mischief,'' grumbled the second voice, and the door handle rattled a few times. Caryll and Laurence held their breaths, glad for their foresight to lock the door.

“Leave it. Master Willem’s expecting us.”

“Aye.”

For a long few minutes, they remained still, until they were sure Dores and the Gatekeeper had walked far away. They collectively let out a sigh. 

“I’ll--I’ll light that candle now,” stuttered Caryll, awkwardly climbing off Laurence after fishing the matchbox out of his pocket.

“...Of course,” came the reply and Caryll willed themself to be steady.

A warm glow surrounded them again, and Caryll blinked a few times to get used to both the brightness and sudden lightheadedness. They felt like their entire body was on fire. They busied themself tidying up the scattered notes, stalling, before turning to Laurence.

Laurence’s eyes went wide for a moment, then he broke into a laugh.

“What?” asked Caryll, incredulous.

“Your face, Caryll,” Laurence said with a grin. “I got some ink on you.” He reached out as if to wipe it, but grimaced after looking at his stained fingers. 

“It won’t come off without some water. Let’s clean up here and leave,” said Laurence as he quickly wiped at the ink stains on the desk with his soiled robe for the final time. Caryll locked the borrowed book back on the shelves. They dabbed at their face with their sleeves unsuccessfully, flushing deeply when they realized just how open their shirt was. Backing up against a bookshelf, they began to button it back up. Then, after hesitation—making sure they had their back to Laurence— timidly unbuttoned the top two again. 

Just before they left the room Laurence turned to Caryll. Slowly, giving Caryll time to react, he leaned in and kissed them again. He passed a finger over Caryll’s exposed collarbone, leaving them just a little breathless.

“Come to my room. We’ll clean up there,” Laurence whispered in a low voice. And in the candlelight, for the first time, Caryll noted the pink flush creeping on Laurence’s cheekbones. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Atrament is a black pigment, usually referring to some type of ink.


	2. Minium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is explicit.

Laurence did not think himself an unaffectionate person, but as it turned out, very few people were worthy of his affection.

People flocked to him naturally. That was a double-edged sword: he endured malicious spite as much as he endured fervent adoration. He had grown used to both.

Laurence considered himself devoted to a higher cause, a desire to leap beyond the limits of humanity and rid it of its countless flaws. Anything short of it was, for the most part, boring.

Caryll was a pleasant surprise. A good part of it was due to their stubborn refusal to _look_ at him. Caryll was all furtive glances and quiet wringing of hands, always hovering on edge.

But Caryll _understood._ When they looked to the sky, their gaze was steadfast and true. With instinct keener than anyone he’s met before, they sought the arcane and the unknown. Even when the encounters greater than the capacity of the human mind left them with shudders wracking through their body and blood dripping from their face, they looked towards the darkness. Just as Laurence did.

Laurence found himself wanting to look into those kind eyes, and have them gaze back at him—and only him. He was certain that he would see, reflected in them, the very lights of the Cosmos.

* * *

Laurence poured cold water from a pitcher into his washing basin and tossed Caryll a washcloth. 

“Here.”

Turning around, Laurence discarded his robe into an empty basket standing in the corner. His shirt followed, though he hung the waistcoat gently on the back of a chair. Bare-chested, Laurence walked over to the washbasin, glancing at the mirror hanging on the wall behind it. Caryll handed the washcloth back to him, predictably unable to make eye contact. Freshly scrubbed cheeks turned slightly away from him. Laurence smirked into the mirror.

Hot water was usually delivered from the kitchen in the mornings, a prefect’s luxury, but they did not have access to it at the moment. He shivered as he washed his hands, arms, and his face for good measure, with the frigid water.

Something warm touched his shoulders. 

Caryll had draped their robe around Laurence from behind, keeping him loosely wrapped as he dried himself. _A sweet gesture_ , he thought. He reached up and took hold of Caryll’s hand on his shoulder. Inclining his head, he kissed their fingertips gently. In the mirror, Caryll finally met his gaze.

“Should we continue where we left off?” Laurence asked.

Caryll blushed to the tips of their ears. They buried their head in Laurence’s hair, as if to hide, and mumbled into his nape. They were likely unaware what kind of effect that had on him, warm breath and the brush of soft lips sending a thrill down his spine. He turned, shrugging into the offered robe. 

“Yes?”

“...Yes,” came the quiet reply.

Their lips found each other again, timidly at first, but growing more comfortable and eager as Laurence pulled Caryll towards him. Laurence watched the way Caryll squeezed their eyes shut, a small furrow of earnest concentration between their brows. He smiled against their lips, taking small, slow steps back towards his bed in between licks and bites. Caryll followed obediently.

When the back of Laurence’s legs touched the edge of the bed, he broke the kiss only to plant another on the side of Caryll’s neck. Glad for the use of both hands, Laurence made quick work of the buttons on Caryll’s shirt. A trail of reddened marks followed his lips down their neck, collar bone, and exposed shoulder as the fabric parted. 

Charmed by the tiny, stifled noises Caryll made each time, Laurence continued his exploration. His own voice caught softly when Caryll’s fingers slipped under his—Caryll’s—robe and traced a line down the sensitive flesh on Laurence’s sides. His lips lingered on Caryll’s collarbone as he hooked a finger under the fastenings of Caryll’s trousers. With one hand he helped Caryll out of them, while the other hand smoothed over Caryll’s chest, thumbing a stiffened nipple. Caryll’s head inclined back minutely, lips slightly parted.

With a half turn Laurence guided Caryll onto the bed. He followed, stepping out of his own clothes but keeping the robe on. Caryll peered up with eyes half-lidded, skin flush with desire. 

Laurence grabbed a small jar kept on the bed stand, and warmed its contents over his hands. 

A cautious stroke over their slick arousal earned a muffled moan. Laurence circled the sensitive flesh and stroked up and down, coaxing out shaky whimpers. Wet fingers rubbed cautiously over the entrance. Caryll tensed, one hand pressed over their mouth. Laurence lifted the hand gently, lacing their fingers together. He mumbled reassurances in Caryll’s ear, punctuated with kisses to the shell of their ear.

Slowly, gradually, Caryll relaxed. A heated moan escaped as a finger slipped inside. Another followed. He worked Caryll open gently, adding a third, causing Caryll to cant their hips up with a jerk. 

“Laurence…” Caryll barely managed to whisper, and Laurence knew they were ready. His own arousal was a throbbing heat, demanding attention, but he made himself be patient as he slicked himself generously. He entered Caryll slowly, savoring the sensation. Caryll gasped wordlessly.

“Breathe...Caryll, It’s ok,” Laurence whispered, holding himself back until Caryll remembered to breathe again. He moved, agonizingly slow at first, then steadily as the incoherent noises escaping from Caryll’s lips became more varied and more breathless. 

Laurence pressed his lips on the sensitive point of Caryl’’s nipple. With one hand he cradled Caryll’s hip, finding the right angle. The other still held Caryll’s hand, fingers entwined together. 

Caryll clung helplessly to Laurence, eyes shut, the sensations threatening to overwhelm them. Laurence’s movement grew more desperate, as he let go just a little, chasing the heady pleasure. When Laurence found just the right angle, hitting the spot that made Caryll let out the most delightful sound, he thrust deeply into it. With a high keen, they arched their back— toes curling, thighs trembling as they unraveled. Laurence moved relentlessly inside them, himself tipping over the edge, coming undone in a haze of pleasure and affection.

For a moment there was only the sound of shallow breaths filling the room, as they rode out the blissful afterglow. Laurence rested his cheek on Caryll’s chest, listening to the rapid heartbeat, feeling the softness of Caryll’s skin.

“Do you hear that?” mumbled Caryll.

“Mmm?” Laurence answered, hearing only the blood rushing in his ears.

“No… it’s nothing.”

Laurence pulled himself up to the pillow. A smug satisfaction rose in his heart as he looked at how _debauched_ Caryll looked. Flaxen hair lay messily over the pillow and curled with sweat on their flushed cheek. Kiss-swollen lips matched the trail of reddened marks adorning their neck—high enough that their shirt collars might not cover them all, and spilling onto their chest. Laurence wiped away a single tear clinging to their lashes.

Caryll absent-mindedly traced a pattern along Laurence’s back. It was a soothing sensation, lulling him to sleep. He vaguely became aware that they were tracing the same shape, over and over, with the blunt tip of their finger. An...arrow of sort, round at the bottom and with a pointed tip, a long tail down the center. There was a shape at its centre...but before he could wonder for long, Caryll’s breathing evened out, and soon after, exhaustion overtook him as well.

* * *

Caryll was sinking. 

The sensation was not altogether unpleasant. They felt the edges of their self blur away, their consciousness dissolving in a warm haze. Pleasure, sparking up their spine like flecks of gold. Like earlier, earlier… _oh, Laurence._

Their pulse was a slow rhythm, more vast and distant than the confines of their human form. 

In a strange place between the waking and dreaming world, Caryll listened. In that moment, Caryll felt they could finally understand it all: the sweet, indescribable roar, calling out to them.

Sound of falling water.

A steady, unending beat.

Slower, heavier, like drops of lead.

Stirring, like a storm, or raging sea.

It is the thunderous sound of a heart that pumps the precious liquid.

_The blood that makes us men._

A yellow parchment of a sky. The blood-red moon, hanging oppressively low over a grand lake of mud. A shadow, shifting and curling like so many horrid limbs…

* * *

Laurence woke with Caryll’s head tucked under his chin. Caryll was mumbling something in their sleep, just loud enough to wake him up, though he could only make out certain words. It seemed as though they were having a nightmare. He ran his hand over Caryll’s head in a soothing motion, closing his eyes once again.

“...Laurence…” Caryll whimpered quietly, and Laurence smiled, making a shushing noise.

It was early yet. Dawn was just breaking, casting a rectangular patch of bluish light on the wall. The air was chilly, and he nestled closer to Caryll, wrapping his arms loosely around their shoulder. 

“What have you taken from the tomb, Laurence?” said Caryll, clearly, but in an eerily toneless voice.

Laurence jerked awake, barely stopping himself from jumping out of bed. 

He quietly called out to Caryll, but they only frowned and curled inwards, fast asleep. He could see the even rise and fall of their chest. 

Was that a dream? 

Still watching Caryll slumber, he slowly reached his hand under the bed and felt around. 

The visit to the underground labyrinth was a reckless, secret adventure that had almost killed him. But he’d returned with its spoils: a small vial filled less than halfway with crimson liquid. Laurence gazed at it for a moment. Though it had been weeks, the blood still flowed freely, with no signs of putrefaction. At times, it seemed to stir on its own, echoing the beats of his heart. He had not told anyone about it.

He looked uncertainly back at Caryll. _Just a dream,_ he thought, replacing the vial under the bed, and allowed himself to drift off.

He thought he could hear the faint patter of rain outside, calling out to him as he slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minium is a red pigment often used in medieval manuscripts.


	3. Orpiment

An incessant knocking at the door woke Caryll. They pressed a hand to their eyes, still heavy with sleep. They felt oddly bereft of warmth—Laurence had gotten up to answer the door, grumbling under his breath.

“In all the known names of gods, I swear, Yurie. _What do you want?_ ”

“What do I _want?_ Surely you didn’t forget?”

The sound of Yurie’s clear, ringing voice jolted Caryll out of sleep. The door was not visible from Caryll’s position in bed, and they fervently hoped she could not see them either. 

“Did I forget wh—the _Cainhurst delegation._ ”

“Of all the people, Laurence! I can’t believe it. You’re not even properly dressed! And what is with your robe? It's short—”

“Yes, yes. I’ll be there in half an hour,” said Laurence, shutting the door in her face. 

As soon as they heard the latch click into place, Caryll sat up. Laurence hurriedly stepped towards the washbasin, pulling clean clothes out of a dresser and dragging open a foldable partition for privacy.

“I was supposed to accompany her to Hemwick Crossing today, to welcome the guests from Cainhurst. It completely escaped my mind.” He hung Caryll’s robe over the partition. “Sorry if it’s a little wrinkled.”

“It’s all right,” mumbled Caryll, gathering up their own clothes. Laurence hurriedly tossed some toiletries into a half-packed trunk.

“I’ll have to find a robe on the way,” Laurence said distractedly, then added. “You may stay as long as you like.”

Laurence dressed with astonishing speed and stepped to the door with his luggage. Before turning the handle, he looked back at Caryll, who was slowly buttoning up their shirt. 

“I’ll be gone for a few days, I think. It should be a short trip.” He smiled before stepping out. “Until then, Caryll.”

With his footsteps fading away down the hall, Caryll cleaned themself rather awkwardly at the washbasin and finished dressing. It felt like a transgression being in Laurence’s room, though they could not help but be curious. The room was minimally furnished, organized meticulously. Caryll could not see any objects of sentimental value displayed in the open—picture frame, a diary perhaps—though they were not planning to dig around. A small dried bundle of herbs hung by a window, giving off a mildly sweet scent.

Caryll peered into the mirror. The uniform’s collar, though buttoned to the top, did not entirely hide the bruises littered on their neck. They could not find their tie anywhere to cover them. They vainly pulled their robe on closer, cheeks flaming when they smelled the unmistakable scent of last night still lingering on the fabric. 

* * *

A week later, Caryll sat in the lecture hall, half-listening to the droning voice of the lecturer on the subject of botany. They hadn’t seen Laurence since that night, though the guests from Cainhurst had come and gone—apparently, he had gotten injured. According to Yurie, he had not accompanied them back to Byrgenwerth.

Caryll heaved a worried sigh. They had no real means to contact him, though Provost Willem had assured them that Laurence was under good care, staying with some relative or another. They would simply have to wait, and hear from Laurence what had happened. 

Someone tapped lightly on their arm. Without looking, Caryll pressed a rusty skeleton key into the hand that waited under the table.

“And the notes?” whispered Rom.

Caryll sighed again. “Why do you need this? I know you don’t need this,” Caryll whispered back.

“That's for me to know, and for you to find out.”

With mild exasperation Caryll slid their lecture notes towards her, accompanied by meticulous drawings of various strange flowers and molds that could be found underground. 

“Always a pleasure doing business with you!” Rom managed to whisper in a sing-song tone. Caryll could not help but smile fondly. 

The lecturer had turned away from the audience and started drawing a complex diagram of the fungal life cycle on the blackboard. A young man Caryll did not know—a newcomer, with curly black hair—stood up from his seat to ask a question. A very good question, apparently, because the lecturer sputtered for a moment then started gesticulating wildly as he raved on.

“Did you get good use out of the key?” asked Rom.

“I did,” said Caryll, with a carefully neutral tone.

“That creepy chained library again? Most people go drinking, you know.”

“Knowledge is a worthwhile pursuit.”

“Yes, I’m sure you learned a lot of new things and had good fun too. Speaking of fun,” Rom said in a conspiratorial tone, leaning in. “I believe this is yours.” Held between her fingers was Caryll’s tie, the one they had misplaced.

“How did you…”

“It’s a little warm for a scarf yet, don’t you think?”

Caryll did not answer, though a blush crept across their cheeks as Rom stifled a knowing giggle next to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind readers, may I interest you in a rarepair? I've had this brainrot regarding Caryll for a while now. Feeling enabled by dear twitter friends, I decided to write it out. 
> 
> I wanted to explore the day-to-day life and shenanigans of crackhead scholars at Byrgenwerth, those naive and innocent (maybe) years before they become corrupted. (with added romance!) Not a ton of canon information regarding Caryll in the game, but I am characterizing them as a scholar with an uncanny sensitivity to the arcane, granting them the ability to sense, listen and interpret the sounds of the Great Ones--visions being one symptom of that ability. In this piece, they haven't quite come to realize their full potential.
> 
> Thank you much for reading! I do want to write a continuation. 
> 
> p.s Orpiment is a yellow pigment.


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